


Villain

by Kaprosuchus



Category: Black Panther - Fandom, MCU, Marvel
Genre: AU, Angst, Avengers - Freeform, Black Panther - Freeform, Erik Killmonger Feels, Erik Killmonger Lives, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik has Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Marvel - Freeform, Plot, Poor Erik Killmonger, Pre-Movie, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 11:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaprosuchus/pseuds/Kaprosuchus
Summary: Exposition





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Exposition

Killmonger. That’s the name of a killer. A murderer of innocent- a man of many faces. A cold blooded man with a heart of stone. A man without love, without fear, and without family.   
....family.... I have no family. Erik thought.

The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth. -African Proverb

“Erik!” IT spoke.

“I thought I killed you...” Killmonger snarled. 

“Why do you torment yourself like this?” The voice carried on as if he hadn’t said anything.

“YOU are my tormentor!” He retorted whisking his hair out of his face.  
He stood from his chair angrily, tossing it aside. Clasping his palms against his head, he marched into the bathroom. Throwing his clothes over his shoulder, he stood in front of the mirror for a moment, looking himself up and down. He stroked his mustache and smiled, gazing into his own eyes. He raised and lowered his eyebrows, immersing himself in his own chocolate gaze. He smiled slightly, before turning away to flip on the shower. It groaned to life, spitting out discolored water, before slowly turning clear. He stepped into the cold water, running his fingers through his hair and humming softly. His hands drifted unconsciously to the scars that ran along his body, and he jerked his hand away instinctively. He stared at the ground shamefully. John “Johnny”, 26. An image flashed in his head of a young man, only one year older than he. Blue eyes, electric blonde hair, and a youthful build. Killmonger never liked the man, but he never disrespected him. It was on a Sunday that Killmonger stabbed him. A simple but gruesome death, no ceremony at all, the only record of his existence was the scar that marked his passing. He rubbed his ears with a scentless ointment. The soap ran down his neck, dripping down the scars that marked his enemies and flowed down the drain. He stood like that for awhile, watching the soap disappear into the drain. His gaze trailed to the blade that laid inconspicuously next to a bar of soap. Innocent. He instinctively picked it up, turning it over in his hands, examining the ridges in its handle. He pushed out the blade, tracing it with his fingernails. The fine point glimmered and sang with promises never reached. He thought of all the people he’d plunged it into- how many of those people he’d actually cared for-   
Only one. His mind answered, Yourself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exit the shower, and enter a wall of dialogue. Enjoy :P

“Is this all you do anymore- just mope around, wondering why the world hates you?” IT asked. 

“What I do with my time has nothin’ to do with you, asshole.” Killmonger snarled. He stepped out of the shower, rubbing his hair with a towel. He walked out of the bathroom, and fumbled with his dresser for awhile, before selecting a pair of worn out jeans and clean underwear. His apartment was hot, the air conditioner was busted. Throwing on the pants he collapsed into his bed. Exhaustedly, he checked his phone: no notifications. Of course.   
“What happened to you, man?” IT mocked him.

“Nothing.” He answered angrily.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you sure as hell ain’t the same person that I met a few years ago…” IT began.

“The same person that killed you all those years ago.” He snarled, turning to face the voice, only to be met with nothing. He was gone. He was always gone- dead. Nameless, just a number on a killsheet.   
“I loved you, man” IT spoke again, “you were my friend, I trusted you!”

“You were my mission.” Killmonger responded. 

“Surely-”

“My victim…”

“I-“ 

“My scar.” 

“Is that all it is to you,” IT whispered, “a scar?”

“It’s a badge.” Killmonger lied.  
“Is that how it feels?”

“I feel nothing!” He lied again. “I felt nothing when I killed the first man, and nothing when I killed the last. I felt nothing that day when I watched my knife plunge into your back.” IT was silent for a moment.   
“That’s not true,” He said at last, “you cried that day.” 

“Monsters don’t cry.” Killmonger replied.


	3. More backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killmonger tells about his history as a criminal and reveals his strange obsession with materialistic things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter is graphic and talks about (doesn’t describe) violence against women please skip ahead if you need to

He gazed into the glass windshield. His reflection cleared and blurred as the rain hit its surface, splintering pieces of liquid glass and taking with it pieces of himself. The blade felt heavy in his pocket. He glanced up from the car, and into the eyes of its owner, who glared at him impatiently. He turned away, laying a hand over the pocket with the knife. He desperately wanted to pull it out- to slash the smug expression off the sales man, and paste it over his product like some sort of tag. He wanted to etch his name into the mans skull and chase away his memories. The knife burned in his pocket, boring a hole through his jeans in its eagerness to see the light...  
Erik walked away. The sales man stood triumphantly over the prize he didn’t know he’d won. Sirens from police cars rang in the distance, filling a piece of him with adrenaline. He reached into his left pocket, rummaging past the old cigarettes and the dirty crumpled bills, and grasping onto a cold slice of metal. A badge. A military badge. It was the only way to stay out of trouble these days- in all his years of crime- he’d never once been arrested. He thought of the robberies, casually shoplifting small things, then graduating to things like electronics. He remembered taking his blade into a hardware store and cutting the sensors off an iPhone, then slipping it into his pocket. That was a few years back, and he still had it. He was very particular about his belongings, holding onto them like they were a part of him- cradling them like they were infants. He remembered robbing his first bank alone, taking with him nothing but a razor blade and an unloaded pistol. The second time he took a loaded one, shooting 7 people. He remembered how good it felt to get out of that bank. His first murder was when he was only 16. It was an Muslim woman. He and his squad beat her, tied her up, and raped her until she stopped breathing. He felt her body in his hands as it fell apart beneath him, twisting and screaming, her Hijab in tatters on the concrete. He remembered the blood. The guilt. Afterwords, the first scar, long and twisted that ran from his collar to his thumb. That one was special, it marked the turning point. Six more scars followed; John, Jacob, Rick, William, Luke, and Carson. His squad. One-by-one they all fell victim to his blade, each one marked by a small scar on his chest.  
Killmonger reaches into his jacket, and pulled out a cigar and a beat up match. He lit it with shaking hands, breathed in the smooth flavor. The smoke drifted past him, taking the memories with it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic attack, end of the dark shit for now.

Villain Pt.2

 

His heart beat inside his chest on the way back to the apartment, filling him with sudden dread. He blinked his eyes to stop the tears, feverishly looking from side to side. The ground got darker as he walked farther into the alleyway, shadows danced around him and his nose filled with the scent of nicotine. He took step after step, each one more wobbly than the last, until finally- he stopped. Erik Killmonger dropped to the ground, and stared into the distance, trying to escape from the attack. It was too late, fear gripped him, and he stood and ran, clutching his temples anxiously. He violently shoved past two people in the shadows- druggies- seeing their eyes flash for a moment before they disappeared behind him. He raced past the broken elevator that only went up 2 stories, past the water tank, and leapt Over the broken water-filters. Erik shoved through the entrance, up the freakin stairs, past a hole in the wall, and into his apartment. He never locked it. Who would want to steal something from a dump like this, anyways? He lay on the dirty tile floor, gasping for breath. His shirt was soaked with sweat and his face was soaked with tears. He checked the doors to make sure they were closed, before crumpling into a ball. He dropped his cigar, his last one, on the run back. He’d convinced himself that was the cause of his panic attack. He laughed to himself, his mind still wavering from the alcohol yesterday. Tomorrow, he promised, tomorrow I’ll be better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have a small but of smut, so look out 

Villain Pt. 3

Sunlight shined in though the window, bathing Erik’s face in gold. He blinked his eyes dreamily, looking around his apartment. “Damn, still stuck in this dump, eh?” He laughed. “Eh?” He repeated, turning to the girl nex-  
Oh.   
For once there was no one next to him. “Shit.” He swore. He lifted his cold hands from the warmth of the blanket, rubbing his eyes, and and sighed. I really need to get laid. He thought. Swiping his hair outta his face, he groggily stood up, gripping the bed for stability. The room was cold, and he was buttass naked. He scratched his scalp, and dug through a pile of clothing on the floor, picking out a pair of sagging light blue jeans, and a white undershirt. He threw the clothing on, and began his hair routine. His locks always looked fresh- mostly because they always were fresh. He carefully pulled the apart, spraying ‘detangling spray’ and brushing through with a metal comb. Once his hair was carefully separated, he brushed through once more, then twisted them back into place, spraying hair spray as he went. His mom always told him “if your hair ain’t good, you ain’t good.” Those were the words he lived by. He trimmed his mustache, put his contacts in, and sprayed a cloud of cologne. Erik whisked his freshly done hair out his face, and gazed into the mirror.   
“Perfect.” He smiled into his reflection, showing off his gold teeth. Winking at the mirror, he grabbed his phone and walked out the door. He made sure that his signature smirk never left his face, as he walked past an army of hookers returning from the last-nights ordeal. A few of them glanced at him, but most of them kept going. He winked at the Pimp as he passed. He took his phone out his back pocket, and texted his dealer.   
‘Meet me by South St. I’m goin there now.’   
‘Aight what you want me to bring?”   
‘The best you got.’ He replied.   
He passed by rows of alleyways, before slowly marching down one. A small cardboard sign sat posted at its entrance, ‘South St.’ it read. He passed some really shitty houses, packed full of people and their families. He leaned on the wall, looking at his phone. His left hand was in his pocket, resting on the military badge. He saw a man enter the alleyway. Pretending to ignore him, his right hand reached into the pocket of his jeans, and found the hilt of a razor blade. Nice and sharp.  
“Hey...!” The man yelled at him.  
“Who’re you?” Killmonger replied, not looking at him.  
“Depends on who you ask.” The man snickered. He could smell the mans filth from where he stood, definitely not his dealer. Just a guy lookin for trouble. He watched from the corner of his eye as the man approached, a blade glinting in his hand. He smiled as the man approached faster. Erik waited until he was within range, before whipping out the blade and holding it to the mans throat. He pushed him against the wall, saying through clenched teeth; “You know how many I’ve killed with this blade?”   
“.....”   
the reply was choked. This man was drunk. Erik killed him quickly, no ceremony needed. He looked around, and, bringing a finger to his lips, he glancing meaningfully at the people who watched. They retreated, nodding knowingly, and Erik retreated from the alleyway. It was already starting to get dark- his dealer had either been arrested, or shot. Tough neighborhood, he thought. He stopped as he exited the scene, looking back to see the homeless ravaging the mans body, taking anything they could. He smiled grimly, turning to make his way to the nearest strip club.


End file.
